


I'm Still Standing

by The3rdTrumpeteer



Series: Refuge and Remedies [13]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Post-Strike, but like, literally right after it, specs is a good brother, the aftermath i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 02:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16076765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The3rdTrumpeteer/pseuds/The3rdTrumpeteer
Summary: Crutchie returns at the end of Act II wearing a different shirt. Here's my take on why.





	I'm Still Standing

All the other kids had left as soon as the front doors of the Refuge were opened, but Crutchie still sat in a bunk against the wall, trying and failing to even out his breaths. He wanted to leave, too, but his leg was on fire (as was most of the rest of his body), and it would probably be impossible for him to stand even if his crutch wasn’t lying broken in half a few feet away.

None of the other kids had offered to help him, and Crutchie didn’t blame them; after all, they were about to get their first tastes of of freedom in god knows how long, and he figured they were too excited to even stop and think.

It was fine. He didn’t want anyone carrying him, anyway.

So Crutchie sat in the empty, dirty room, trying to figure out what he should do. He couldn’t walk, couldn’t make it back to the square or even down the hall. Maybe-

“Crutchie?” There was a voice in the doorway, and quiet as it was, Crutchie couldn’t help but jump, startled by the sound. He glanced over, ignoring the way the bruised skin on his throat stretched painfully when he moved, and saw Specs standing a few feet away, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “We heard the Refuge had closed, but...you didn’t come out with the other kids, and after seein’ you that night, I thought-”

“I’m fine, Specs.” It was a lie, but Crutchie smiled, anyway. “Just a little sore, that’s all. I was actually about get goin’.”

Then Crutchie did something unimaginably stupid--he tried to get up out of the bunk and walk over to Specs. He barely made it to his feet before his knees buckled under him and he feel. He would have hit the unforgiving stone floor if not for Specs’ quick reflexes. As it was, the other newsie staggered under his weight for a second before regaining his balance.

“You okay, Crutchie?” Specs asked. Crutchie opened his mouth to say something, anything, to maintain the illusion that he was fine, but all that came out instead was a dry sob. He clung to Specs, taking painfully short breaths and struggling to get a hold of himself.

Specs just let him cry, eventually guiding him back to the bunk, where they both sat, Specs gripping Crutchie in a tight embrace, and Crutchie finally letting out all the anger and fear he had been feeling the past week.

It could have been minutes or hours, but finally Crutchie’s sobs subsided and Specs let go, though he still kept a hand on Crutchie’s back.

“I’m sorry,” Crutchie whispered.

“Don’t be,” Specs said. “This place...it’s awful. And you’re so strong for makin’ it through, especially when the Spider had it out for ya.”

“Just a little,” Crutchie said with a small smile. “I just...I wanna leave, but my crutch is...outta commission. Snyder broke it.”

"That bastard,” Specs muttered, looking at the splintered pieces of wood. “It’s okay, we’ll get you outta here.”

“I don’t want to be carried.” Crutchie cursed himself for his damn stubbornness and pride, but at this point it felt like that was all he had left. Specs just nodded.

“I won’t carry you, Crutchie,” he said. “But please, just let me help you.”

“Alright.” 

The process was slow-going, as Crutchie had trouble keeping his good leg under him, and he couldn’t put any weight at all on his bad one. Specs, too, was struggling a little, holding Crutchie up with one arm and clutching the pieces of the crutch (he had insisted on grabbing them) in his free hand. But eventually they made it down the hall and out the front door of the Refuge, and Crutchie finally felt like he could breathe again.

“I think everyone’s at the square,” Specs said. “Do you want me to get you there?”

“Could we, uh...maybe go back to the lodging house first?” Crutchie asked. He glanced down at himself, and even though he could only see the stains on his clothes, he knew he must have looked a mess. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this. They’ll think I’m broken.”

“No one’ll think that-”

“Specs, please.” Crutchie hated the way his voice cracked, still hoarse.

After that, Specs didn’t protest anymore.

By the time the lodging house came into view, Crutchie felt like he was about to fall over, but he was glad for the friendly, familiar sight of the building. They made it through the front door and to the first-floor common area without incident, where Specs helped Crutchie to the old couch that sat in a corner of the room. Crutchie sank into the cushions gratefully.

“I’ll be right back,” Specs said a disappeared. It was a few minutes later when he returned carrying a bucket of water and a few rags. He was holding the pieces of the crutch under his arm. “Now you can clean up some.”

“Thanks, Specs.” Crutchie took the rags from Specs and found one of them to actually be a shirt, worn but clean.

“It’s one’a mine.” Specs shrugged. “Though you might want somethin’ else to wear. I mean...” He gestured to the shirt Crutchie had on, which was now more red and brown than gray. “...yeah.”

Crutchie just nodded, not trusting himself to speak without crying again. He didn’t know what he had done to deserve such a loving brother, but he was glad he had him.

It took a bit, but Crutchie had finally scrubbed most of the blood from his skin. Putting on the shirt was hard because moving his arms sent pangs of discomfort through his ribs, but he managed to ignore the pain.

Specs had left again and come back with more rags, which he used to wrap the crutch in, binding the cloth tightly enough that the wood no longer bent at an odd angle, but was straight again.

“It’s just a temporary fix,” he said, handing the crutch back to Crutchie. “But it should work.”

Crutchie pulled Specs into a hug without hesitation. 

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Specs only held him tighter. “You ready to head to the square?”

“Yeah.”

Now that Crutchie had his crutch again, he felt he could stand on his own, at least for a little while. He and Specs walked out the door together, toward their friends, their family. Toward victory.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr: poorguysheadisdoingwhatnow


End file.
